


Lay Me Down

by Anonymous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 6b era probably?, Established Relationship, F/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7777402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn’t been the worst day— but it was bad in a human way, which can still get frustrating when they forget to place their lives in perspective. Still, Stiles thinks it’s so pretty to see her like this. She’s upset about things that are fixable, things that he can make better so easily. </p>
<p>He’s going to spend the rest of his life making shitty things better, if she’ll let him. High school, Stiles thinks, was just the trial run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Lay Me Down by Sam Smith because it was playing and I'm too lazy to come up with a better title, tbh.

They go back to Lydia's house after school because Stiles decides that she is too grumpy to be by herself. He doesn't miss the small smile that plays at her lips when he says that, kissing her temple before shutting the door to his jeep and hopping around to the other side.

It hasn't been the worst day— but it was bad in a human way, which can still get frustrating when they forget to place their lives in perspective. Still, Stiles thinks it's so pretty to see her like this. She's upset about things that are fixable, things that he can make better so easily.

He's going to spend the rest of his life making shitty things better, if she'll let him. High school, Stiles thinks, was just the trial run.

They lie on her bed and stare at the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling for a while, just talking, until Lydia heaves a massive groan and pulls out her homework. Stiles does the same, but spends most of the time just watching the frustration and annoyance Lydia is feeling at her work.

And, really, that's no way to complete an assignment.

Especially given the fact that she is wearing a very, _very_ short skirt, and now, magically, he is allowed to take those off of her.

(Yeah, okay, so  Stiles might like being in a relationship with her a little _too_ much. Whatever.)

He pushes Lydia's homework off of the bed and swallows her protests by kissing her.

At first she's distracted by the papers littered across the floor, squeaking in protest against him to let her go clean up the mess, but then his hand is sliding under her skirt and cupping her ass and she just totally melts into it and he tries to ignore the goosebumps on his body.

He knows that she's tired and a little bit sad from today and he just is so grateful that he's the one who can take it all away. He's grateful that he's the one here with her. And it gives him this energy that courses through him.

So he slides off her panties and ducks his head under her skirt as he settles between her spread legs.

She's just about to come, he can feel how wet she is, how she's tightening around his fingers— she's _just_ there when he suddenly pulls back completely and wipes his mouth, acting like he's catching his breath

She's about to cry as she looks at him, he can tell. His fingers are nowhere near where she needs them, and it's driving her to distraction.

He sees the look on her face and kinda teases like "Oh, did you want something?" and she just _glares_ , which makes him smile so big because Lydia's definitely not thinking about her bad day now

So Stiles sucks his fingers into his mouth and watches her eyes get all soft; watches her eyes fixate on his mouth as he sucks the fingers

And when he ducks down again to lick her, she breathes out this long, relieved sigh, lifting her skirt up so that she can clutch her hands in his hair and shove him closer. But he's avoiding her clit, which is making her whine with frustration, and as soon as he gets a second finger inside of her, she starts feeling that rise, the way her head whooshes with it.

And that's when he stops.

He starts littering kisses on her thighs; kissing down to the delicate bone at her ankle before he slides right back up and lifts her shirt over her head, pressing gentle, fluttering kisses against her stomach.

One of his fingers is still lightly pumping through her slick but it's slow and it's nothing. She's whining, trying to get him to move faster and he's just smiling lazily, looking so pleased with himself.

It's almost like he's forgotten what he's meant to be doing. He finally pulls out his finger and undoes the front clasp of her bra and lets it fall to the sides as he presses his mouth against her breasts and lets his eyelashes flutter across her sensitive skin.

Then he's up higher, on her temple, where he presses his lips against the mind he loves so desperately, so endlessly. Over to her earlobe, playful and happy and lazy.

And finally, when she says "Stiles, _please,_ " he seems to register the look on her face for the first time— how wrecked and red she is.

Her eyes are wide and he swears to god they're almost watering. Her hips are bucking up against nothing because he's holding his body away from hers. When he slithers down her body again, it takes too long and she _aches_ for him as he presses his hand against her lower stomach and begins to finger her again, slow, staring, smiling mischievously.

" _Please_ ," she says again. "Stiles, god, I—" she trails off, and he raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Lydia? You what?"

"Fuck you." She manages to bite out. "Just _get me off_."

"Say please."

"No," she bites out. "I said get me off."

"Do I have to?" he asks musingly, and she lets out this loud, high pitched whine, canting her hips. "I don't think I _have to_ ," Stiles says again, musingly. "I could just leave you like this, I think."

In an instant, her arms are moving, going for her clit, and he's on her in two seconds, using his strength to drag them back and pin them to the bed, Lydia sweaty and desperate underneath him as the bulge in his jeans finally connects with her.

"No way," he says, voice rough. "No touching yourself."

"Damn it," she moans. " _Stiles_."

But he's sliding down her body again, leaving these searching little kisses on her pale white skin, drowning himself in it, getting lost in the stretch marks on her thighs and the red love bites he leaves on the lightning bolts that stretch across her skin where only he sees them. He loves getting lost between her legs, and when he finally removes his hands from her wrists, effectively unpinning her, Lydia doesn't do anything; doesn't move to touch herself at all.

She's sitting half up on the bed, her face still flushed, her mouth bitten maroon and covered in spit, and she's watching him like he's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen. Her breath is coming out so harshly, which contrasts starkly against how quiet Stiles is, reveling in this moment.

"You gonna ask me again?" he questions, and she closes her mouth tightly and shakes her head, eyes enormous as she stares down at him. "Good," he says lowly. Her hand shakily lifts up to stroke from his hair to his cheek and chin. He kisses her wrist as she passes, his lips still covered in her come.

The first finger that he slides into her almost makes him frot against the bed; she's clenching around him and she's so wet that he's not sure how he's stopping himself from fucking her right now.

He's almost certain that she's holding her breath as he lowers his head and kitten licks at her, trying not to laugh to himself when she moans loudly and knocks her head back into her pillow, drowning in her hair.

"Oh god, oh god, _oh god_ ," she chants. "oh my god, Stiles."

He can't help himself. He stops licking and just watches her, watches her cry out in frustration but she looks _beautiful._ And this time it's not even because he's edging her, it's because he fucking loves her and peering up at her through his lashes as he coyly eats her out just isn't enough.

"Jesus Christ, Lydia," he says, and his eyes drift over to her hands, still at her sides. Normally she'd be pinching her nipples but she isn't touching her body at all, like the memory of him holding her down and telling her not to get herself off is keeping her pinned just as well as his hands did. "Want you so bad," he admits, suddenly overwhelmed by it. "God, Lydia, I can't believe you. Can't believe you're here."

She nods in response but she seems unfocused, and that's what makes him slide a little further down and then just bury himself inside of her, eating her out with the eager enthusiasm that he had the first time, when he had wanted her taste everywhere and hadn't cared about anything else— it was so abandoned, and had felt so reckless, and now when she says his name it sounds like a question, and she says it again and it's a swear, and she says it again and it's praying, and she says it again and finally she's coming loudly, louder than he's ever, ever heard her.

He licks her through it, hears her pleading at him to stop when she's overstimulated but ignores her and licks her through a smaller orgasm. Isn't even ashamed when the noises she makes from that one make him come in his jeans because _fuck_ , she's hot. She's always turned him on so much. There will never be an exception.

There's tears in her eyes when he walks back up her boneless body, still hard and unbelievably turned on from the way she can only blink up at him. She sits up on her elbows though, coming to meet him as he presses his lips against hers and then opens her up to him, his tongue stroking her own taste into her mouth.

She wraps her arms around him, tugging him closer, unashamed to be naked against his fully clothed body.

But then he sits the both of them up and she still seems slightly boneless as he lifts his shirt over his head. Her fingers tremble against the button on his jeans, biting her lip to keep herself from moaning when she gets him in her fist. "I want you so much," she says, voice shaking. "God help me— I want you so fucking badly, Stiles."

"After all that?" he teases, because really he's not going to complain.

Lydia shakes her head.

"After everything. So much more after all that, I just—" he kicks off his jeans and she climbs into his lap and lowers herself onto him. The whine that she emits is right in his ear, so close to him, like it's only for him, only the two of them.

They fuck slowly, and it rolls through them, their bodies sweat-slicked and pressed together as Stiles grunts softly into the room and Lydia tries to control the whine in her throat because she loves fucking like this; loves how close they are and the way he kisses her neck and shoulders and the way he plunges his hand into her hair and moans into her neck and she can feel the vibrations against her skin.

She is out of her mind with it; with coming so hard and still getting to feel him buried to the hilt inside of her, this boy who loves her, this boy who has offered to die for her multiple times, this boy who has so many pieces of her soul that coming together like this feels like coming home. Like he's tearing her apart and putting her back together with every single wave of pleasure that rolls over her.

It's not the first time they haven't used a condom, but she doesn't think she'll ever be over the way he feels inside of her as he comes, satisfying something so deep within her to know that they are the most primal, instinctive versions of themselves when he is giving her this and she is giving him this.

Her legs shake as the slow rolls finally wash over her one last time and she comes at the knowledge of what he is leaving inside of her body, and at the way he is shaking underneath her, exhaling hastily, over and over again, mouth open and pressed against her shoulder

They stay like that for a while, him inside of her as he catches his breath, Lydia even more boneless than she was before. She feels her heart gape a little bit when he finally pulls out of her, laying her against the pillows only to slither down her body and lay his head on her stomach, stroking over it, thinking about the pieces of himself that are still inside of Lydia Martin

"You wanna take a shower?" he asks eventually. "I got you all sweaty."

Lydia looks up at her ceiling, trying not to laugh or cry or whatever.

"Only if you promise not to give me another orgasm," she says, half teasing because she knows from experience that he's terrible at keeping his hands to himself in the shower.

"Seems in character," Stiles says drily. "Let's see how it goes."

She pretends to sigh heavily before he kisses her tummy and pushes off of the bed, heading buck-naked into her bathroom and turning on the water.


End file.
